


Somnus

by Lilibet



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Literal Sleeping Together, Obi-Wan deserves sleep, Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28796094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilibet/pseuds/Lilibet
Summary: Obi-Wan can't sleep. Qui-Gon helps.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 53





	Somnus

**Author's Note:**

> This has lain in my WIP folder for months, and if it wasn't for [kyber-erso's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aoraki/pseuds/kyber-erso) wonderful art, this probably never would have seen the light of day.

Obi-Wan couldn’t sleep.

For days now, it’s embrace would escape him. Each evening he’d try, but his only accomplishment would be the inevitable tossing and turning and frustrated huffing when his body wouldn’t obey. Deep meditations became his solution, a false mimic of the rest he truly required, but even they were beginning to abandon him. As more sleepless nights passed, the world warped, both out of focus and sharp all at once until it felt just this side of wrong. It crawled over his skin.

He became irritable with his Master, who did nothing to deserve his short temper. Apologies would spill from his lips, guilt twisting in his stomach at the resulting frown that would adorn Qui-Gon’s face. Even so, Obi-Wan would still feel the urge to smooth out the furrow of his brow with his thumb.

On the fifth consecutive night with minimal sleep, the act of climbing into bed an endeavour he’d now abandoned, he was sat on the sofa in their wooden cabana. A light midnight breeze drifted through the gauzy curtains that led to the balcony, the quiet susurration of the fabric keeping him company. Obi-Wan rubbed his forehead and sighed, closing his eyes and praying for sleep he knew would not come.

He was exhausted, but this restlessness would not leave him no matter what he tried. 

So caught up in his frustration, he didn’t notice when Qui-Gon quietly emerged from his room. It wasn’t until he knelt in front of him that Obi-Wan startled and snapped his eyes open. He was sleep mussed, Obi-Wan begrudgingly noticed, in only a pair of cotton pants and a thin robe hanging open off his broad shoulders. His figure was sharp against the hazy backdrop of the room, real in a way the rest of reality wasn’t.

“You must sleep, Obi-Wan,” he murmured, voice quiet in the oppressive silence of the room.

“I’ve tried, Master,” Obi-Wan sighed and looked down at his hands fiddling with the edge of his robe. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I –“

Qui-Gon’s hands stilled his. They were warm and Obi-Wan concentrated on the scratch of Qui-Gon’s calluses against his skin and let his rising frustration dissolve like morning fog in the wake of sunrise.

“How about a warm drink? It might help,” Qui-Gon offered, rising to his feet. Obi-Wan’s fingers twitched at the sudden lack of warmth, and despite only moving across the room, the loss of Qui-Gon’s presence left him feeling oddly bereft.

Obi-Wan remained where he was, staring vacantly at his hands and barely registering the noises of Qui-Gon pottering around the kitchen. He jumped when Qui-Gon returned, kneeling in front of him again to hand over a gently steaming mug.

“Here,”

He passed it to Obi-Wan, who took it gingerly between his hands and breathed in the familiar smell. It was Qui-Gon’s favourite brew, Sapir tea, the one Obi-Wan made for him every morning when at the Temple. His lips twitched at the role reversal, but he said nothing. He hummed quietly before taking a sip.

Qui-Gon smiled softly at him and reached up to brush his cheek with his thumb, tucking an imaginary piece of hair behind the curve of his ear before smoothing down his braid.

“The floor is unforgiving, Master,” Obi-Wan murmured, “and your knees aren’t as young as they used to be.”

Qui-Gon gently tugged the end of the braid still in his hand. “Indeed they’re not,” he chuckled, “No doubt they will let me know of their displeasure come morning.”

Despite his words, he made no move to stand, content to wait for Obi-Wan to finish his tea. The mug was taken and Obi-Wan guided by a hand at the small of his back to Qui-Gon’s room. He would’ve been surprised had exhaustion not chosen that moment to fill his head. It was as though he was underwater, ears full of cotton, the edges of the furniture blurring into each other. Had Qui-Gon not been there to guide him, Obi-Wan was sure he would have come away with stubbed toes.

The cool air pebbled his skin when Qui-Gon removed his robe, placing it out of sight and encouraging him to lie down. Obi-Wan went without thinking. Had this been any other time, he had no doubt he’d be blushing and stuttering at being in Qui-Gon’s bed with him, but he couldn’t summon the energy to so much as smile at Qui-Gon when he settled beside him.

Minutes passed, although it could have been hours for all Obi-Wan could tell, but the sky outside remained dark, only the sound of their breathing to keep them company in the silence. Qui-Gon watched him, his gaze focused as though Obi-Wan was the most important thing in the room. Something passed over his face too quickly for Obi-Wan’s wearied mind to catch and was replaced by a thoughtful expression.

Qui-Gon rose to sitting and manoeuvred Obi-Wan’s head to rest in his lap. Obi-Wan sighed as rough fingers began gently carding through his cropped hair, nails scratching over his scalp and down the slope of his neck. A heaviness dragged his eyes shut as he heard and felt the tell-tale signs of Qui-Gon beginning to unwind his braid. The quiet clack of beads as he slipped them out, the near-silent whisper of hair sliding against itself, the occasional tug behind his ear.

It all coalesced into a gentle white noise that finally, _finally_ , began dragging him down towards the elusive embrace of sleep. His breathing slowed to the steadiness of Qui-Gon’s, the solid warmth of him a grounding presence that settled the restlessness of his mind.

At some point, Qui-Gon redid his braid, reverently stroking it between his fingers in a moment Obi-Wan wasn’t sure was real. Perhaps he imagined it, just as he may have imagined the press of lips to his forehead, the vibration of words murmured into his skin.

But in the indolent space between sleep and wakefulness, he couldn’t be sure.


End file.
